


Let's Get Ridiculous

by xTammyVx



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Butt Plugs, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, M/M, Prompt Fill, Sex Toys, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Sexual Experimentation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-21 18:42:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2478539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xTammyVx/pseuds/xTammyVx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall didn’t think that this kind of thing was <i>his</i> kind of thing.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Niall buys a fox tailplug online, and wears it for a Halloween party. Zayn is impressed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Get Ridiculous

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: _Niall keeps thinking of the butt plug he has seen earlier on. Slick butt plug with a soft fox tail. They do crossdressing in their intimacy but he wants to be a fox for their halloween party. Little do Zayn know a plug is neatly snug in his partner but he is so strangely fidgety. (...) Can you possibly write the whole process ? When he first sees it, buying it, first try, full attire and Zayn's face when he discovers it ?_  
>  \--Anon
> 
> Happy Halloween!
> 
> I took on this prompt because I like challenges. This one was to explore sexual experimentation in a relationship, something I like the idea of Ziall doing, laughing during sex and doing random stuff and taking risks.
> 
> Cheers to my betas, [freakforhoran](http://freakforhoran.tumblr.com/), [laziallgna](http://laziallgna.tumblr.com/), and [Forever Fonding](http://foreverfonding.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> **05/09/15 Edit:** Found [this](http://40.media.tumblr.com/c95f6d71e42b80d55b05fc4daa727d39/tumblr_ntrnitGpR81udih2ko1_500.jpg) (semi nsfw). (Linked to image URL rather than blog because the blog is scum.)

Niall sees it on a website.

He doesn’t know what else he expected from _furryfuck.com_ , but after scouring through pages of paw gloves and fluffy ears, this is the first thing to really surprise him. Maybe it’s not even that surprising, maybe the _feeling_ is; Niall didn’t think that this kind of thing was _his_ kind of thing.

In saying that, the numbers blocked in an angry red on his alarm clock tell him that it’s 4am, which could explain why he’s chubbing up to a plug with a tail.

After sending the link to Zayn (for laughs, haha) Niall bunches his plush duvet around himself and falls asleep.

(Not thinking about it.

No way.)

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Except he kinda does start to think about it, jetlag worn off and clothes on the floor. Zayn’s on top of him, tracing Niall’s bottom lip with a sparkly red lipstick called _Dorothy’s Shoes_ , his own painted _Plum Passion_. They don’t do this a lot because the smears are such a bastard to scrub off—though that’s the idea, to leaves smudges down each other’s bodies—and it’s only thanks to a cancelled photoshoot that they have the time now.

Mouth warm and wet on Niall’s neck, chest, tummy, and hip, Zayn makes quick work of their briefs. His own are pushed down just enough to sit under his bum so he can rub his cock into the mattress. A smile here and there as he teases, toying with the waistband of Niall’s pants and kissing the skin he exposes beneath them before letting it snap back into place, Zayn is winding him up. Badly.

And he looks so good sucking dick that Niall can’t even be cross with him, lost in the purple smears and thick grunts of concentration. The tail suddenly pops into Niall’s mind when Zayn slurps at the tip before letting it go and hoisting up Niall’s legs. How it could look. Ridiculous, probably, but here he is letting his boyfriend cover him in lipstick, so really, what does ridiculousness even mean to them?

The thoughts come through like a scratchy CD thanks to the little licks and dirty moans Zayn is pressing against his hole, feeling out each wrinkle on Niall’s rim with his tongue’s tip as his arse makes little rolling motions against the bed.

“Love this colour on you,” Zayn tells him.

“Can’t see,” Niall grins. He sits up to give an exaggerated, cheeky wink; “Take a photo?”

“Might later, when you’re all opened and gagging for it,” Zayn replies in an equally silly impression of a clichéd pornstar.

Niall is happy for all the things he has in the world, but especially for Zayn, and the way they have it so well. Laughing and cracking jokes works as foreplay, and carries right into sex – Zayn blows raspberries into Niall’s neck and holds there while they giggle and Niall bats halfheartedly at his shoulder. There’s a red sweep from Zayn’s mouth to his jaw that Niall’s rather proud of, his still-purple lips cracking apart as he brings himself up because he knows how much Niall loves to watch him come.

It’s a hell of a show, his thick black eyebrows scrunching in with bliss, cheekbone catching the light from the desklamp as he ruts forward and stills. He even lets out a little, “Oh,” like it’s a surprise or something. He’s fucking hot.

“How about that photo?” he offers.

Niall grins, thighs opening wide, releasing Zayn from their hold so he can grab his phone off the floor. Zayn turns him over, pushes his finger around and in and out and in, wiggling it and recording himself doing it.

“ _Yeah_ ,” he smirks, the warm dribble of his come seeping down Niall’s taint. “That’s sick, like.” Zayn puts down his phone and doesn’t have to give a warning; Niall is extensively aware of the filthy things Zayn’s into, including but not limited to some makeup, dressing room- and bathroom-sex, knickers, heels, blindfolds, and—though not spontaneously—the taste of his own jizz after a good fuck.

“Mm, like that,” Niall moans. “But faster. Lots faster.”

“Greedy,” Zayn says, his comment muffled since he dare not pull away while Niall’s dicking helplessly into their duvet, he’s _that_ close.

“Yeah, yeah, _yeah_ ,” Niall pants. He’s grinning and rocking back and forth, thoughts again drawn to the plug and its tail, the bronze-orange fur with the ashy tip. Utterly hopeless in his attempt to last when he’s so turned on, Niall shoves down too hard and comes.

Zayn kisses him all messy again, smears of spit and spunk and makeup clinging to their skin.

“Shower time,” Niall hums happily. “Got anything left, old fella?”

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answers to.” (He’s very smug for someone with such a sticky chin.)

Niall doesn’t mention what got him off so quickly.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Niall waits till Zayn’s napping on the sofa to switch to Incognito, typing in _furryfuck_ with extra-sensitive ears picking up each obnoxiously loud tap of the keys. The toy is still there, though little blue letters tell Niall that it’s low in stock, selling fast—

And then Niall remembers in a rare moment of rich pride that he’s a multimillionaire. If he can donate hundreds of thousands of pounds to charities, he can buy a £38.99 butt plug with a tail. The description boasts the luxurious feel of the silicone, and the soft, lifelike fur of a fox, and he’s so sold that he can’t hit the _Add to cart_ and _Checkout_ buttons fast enough, along with a bottle of special shampoo. Who even knew this stuff existed? Niall is amazed.

There’s something about discreet postage and no refunds unless it’s faulty, and Niall’s so excited (and horny) that he wakes Zayn up with what is quite probably the world’s most enthusiastic blow job. Granted, Zayn just looks at him with a grunt and a grin, then rolls over and falls asleep again once he’s finished, but Niall crawls up and cuddles him anyway. He’s in that kind of mood.

He completely forgets to worry about what Zayn might think of their newest toy.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Brown paper covers the box that Niall signs for two days later (fuck yeah priority shipping) and he _knows_ what’s inside before he gets to his living room and tears the wrapping. There’s a picture of it on the front, and he uses his keys to wrestle the tape open because he’s too impatient to get a knife when the tail is _waiting for him_ in this treasure chest of a cardboard box.

He’s caught off guard by the silky feel of it, how the fur is so glossy and smooth that it slides right over his hand when he strokes it, holding the plug part and leading it around like that. Due back at any minute now, Zayn isn’t allowed to see this. Partially because it’s a surprise, and partially because Niall doesn’t know where _kinky_ ends and _fucking insane_ starts, but he’s pretty sure that the line is drawn roughly where he’s sitting, petting a tailplug in wonder and amusement.

Niall hides it at the back of the garage, under his golf kits. No chance Zayn’d look there after all these years of declining Niall’s invitations to play, except for one time, though Niall’s pretty sure that he was there to look pretty and see Niall in tight white trousers more than anything else. He’d done a very good job at both.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

On the 20th of October, some amazing things happen.

1\. At 9am, Niall has the best sort of orgasm (cock untouched and Zayn’s rimming game strong)

2\. At 3pm, he and Zayn make hash brownies

3\. At 3.33pm, they start having sex while they’re mashed (always a 10/10)

4\. At 3.45pm, Niall gets inspired

  
Zayn’s doing more humping than dicking; he loses some of his accuracy and energy when he’s stoned. However, fucking in general being his expertise and all, he has a few tricks up his sleeve that he’s happy to show off, like dirty-talk.

“You sent me a link to a butt plug,” he says, rough and smiley as he nuzzles into Niall’s hair. “With a tail. Do you remember?”

“Kinda,” Niall lies. He tilts his bum up, the angle utter perfection, and he turns to warm goo inside like his come is filling him up. Which is, like, weird? But very good.

“I think it was a fox tail? I was at Louis’, only saw it on my phone, like.” Zayn pulls out and replaces his cock with his fingers.

Niall rocks back into the sharp hook grinding against his prostate, oversensitive and holding the pillow between his teeth, letting his thighs shake for Zayn to see.

“Wanna see it in here. I wanna drive you mad. Make you walk around the house with it in, like we used to before you wrecked our old one,” Zayn goes on. Niall very much wants to point out that _Zayn_ mixed up the silicone lube with the water-based lube, but he’s pulling at his heavy dick with one hand and clinging to the sheets with the other. “But it’ll be cuter, b’cause you’ll have a tail, yeah?”

Opening his eyes, Niall’s gaze is met with the pumpkin they carved, which sits on the windowsill because Zayn was so proud of himself that Niall couldn’t possibly put it anywhere else. A lightbulb comes to life in his head.

“I— god, I have to come,” Zayn gasps, and stops wanking so he can push back into Niall’s arse, no longer trying to control the angle. Niall gets it right though, coming before Zayn does. On the bed he made just yesterday. Damn.

The second his head clears, Niall starts to list off places he could conceivably get a fox costume. Websites have been a particularly reliable source recently, but he needs _quality_ , soft fabric, and a zip. This is not something he can gamble with.

“So hungry,” Zayn groans, rolling on top of Niall to basically slobber-kiss his neck.

“Ugh, Zayn,” Niall whines.

“I wanna fuck again,” Zayn mumbles. “Let’s have another brownie. And some pizza. Good stuff, though, not that shit Harry got.”

“Aw, he’s just trying to keep us healthy. Bless,” Niall grins like he didn’t absolutely hate that organic pizza as much as Zayn did.

“Fuck my health,” Zayn snorts, shoving a brownie into his mouth.

Niall does the same, because his vision’s not so foggy anymore, and the chance to ride Zayn while he’s stoned, lazy, smirking, biting his lip, adjusting Niall, and being a bit cocky is absolutely too good to pass up.

Knowing that the tail is secretly just a floor down and hidden from view drives Niall to another orgasm as he contemplates whether or not voyeurism is also his kind of thing.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

Niall sneaks into a costume shop at 8am – their opening time during October. He’s been to two already, and though they sold fox costumes, they weren’t what he wanted at all. He doesn’t want skimpy stuff – he basically just wants a onesie, and says as much to the young lad at the counter.

“Erm, like, I think…” he drawls, then leads Niall to a section with the header “ONESIES”. Duh. “There’re a couple here, like, if you want one without a hood, because we’ve got a panda, erm, _with_ a hood.” Niall thinks time would freeze if this kid were to ever talk to Harry.

“Thanks,” Niall grins.

The boy nods and slumps off to the counter, where he proceeds to look bored and depressed.

It takes two minutes of searching to find what Niall’s looking for – a fox onesie. £20. It has a hood with two eye holes cut into it, and Niall mentally checks this place as a _maybe_ , a last resort, but hope sparks up a little fire in his tummy when he sees a similar tan colour to the one he’s holding. Niall puts the first down, and— yes. Oh god, _yes_.

“Mate, like, this one’s discounted to half b’cause it’s got two zips,” the guy tells him.

“Yeah, good.” Niall rocks back on his heels and inspects the rack of different coloured pottles next to him. They say _Professional Face Paint_ on the labels. “These three as well, thanks.”

“Cool.” A beep. “Thirty-three ninety-seven.”

Niall basically skips all the way to his lovely big car in the lovely autumn breeze with his bag in his hand and hopefully there are no paps around to catch his giddy moment.

Because he’s absolutely _psyched_ to be the one who brings this to their bedroom, when Zayn was the one to steer them off a life of missionary on the bed every night. This time it’s _Niall_. Niall thought of it, Niall planned it, Niall’s _doing_ it.

And he _still_ hasn’t told Zayn about his top-secret Hot Sex Scheme, so he has to wait till the house is empty before he unloads his goodies from the car and into the garage, along with a pair of auburn-ish briefs he got from Tesco. To say the least, he’s very pleased with himself.

To say the most, he’s fucking ridiculous.

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

* * *

* : ・ﾟ❧ ﾟ・: *

On Halloween night, Niall spends roughly half an hour in the bathroom _preparing_ (wink-wink, nudge-nudge) for Liam’s party. Since Zayn gave up banging on the door, demanding a sneak preview of Niall’s outfit, Niall finally has the quiet to sit in the bath and loosen up. (They’ve never actually christened the tub – only the bathroom counter. Which is a shame because they have the biggest bath out of all their friends—excluding Liam’s prized hot tub—and it’s definitely worthy of being christened, so long as they put towels on the floor first.)

He’s hard from the first finger, head resting back at the second, and contemplating a wank by the third. Flashbacks to phone sex with Zayn with one leg over the tub’s rim are driving him utterly mad, so he finishes up without more than a measly stroke, stiff cock wobbling as he stands and dries off, maybe holding the towel to his crotch for longer than necessary. Ugh. Zayn’d better appreciate his efforts.

The “malfunction” (or, as Niall thought of it, a gift from a higher being who was keen for Niall to be as kinky as he likes) is that the onesie has two zips on its back, so while one goes right up to the neck, the other opens from the bottom. Bless whoever cocked that up.

In a clever moment of innovation, Niall has cut a small hole in the matching pants, so that the tail fits through. And here comes the big moment he’s been waiting for, the first _real_ step in tonight’s Master Plan; he slicks up the plug and pushes it in. Though he tries his fucking best, he can’t seem to avoid rubbing up against his prostate every so often with the weighty, smooth tip. Any other time this could’ve been a challenge – get off using just the plug, make himself come on penetration alone. This isn’t even the main event and he’s already smearing precome on the bathroom cabinet he’s leaning on as he works it in.

Alright.

Deep breaths.

Phew.

That’s not even the difficult part, though. For the first time since he’d had what had seemed like such a brilliant idea (when Zayn was _inside him_ , mind) came to him, Niall actually gets a taste of how hard—in every meaning imaginable—this is going to be. Just picking up his briefs tilts the plug into a nice pressure against his sweet spot, dick going a hopeful flush of pink again.

_No_ , he silently insists. Niall pulls his briefs on with a wince and a choked moan, his own bulge obscene at best, the worst of it remaining trapped in the fabric. Zayn’s a lad who barely gets wet, but Niall’s the opposite, and his pants are sporting a streak down the upper left because his cockhead’s still leaking. He clumsily pulls the tail through the hole and steps into his onesie, leaving the bottom zip up an inch. When his tail’s out completely and he gives himself a once-over, he feels a little better. He looks _good_. Even better painted up, orange sweeping up his forehead from the black on the tip of his nose, white on his chin, and a cheesy fox-ears headband. Voila.

“Oh my fucking god,” Zayn sniggers from the sofa upon Niall’s entrance. “Come on then, _foxy_. Did you really spend all that time in there, like, dolling yourself up?”

Niall shrugs. The plug wiggles when he walks, not nearly as bad as in the bathroom.

They take a cab there—nobody needs to see 2/5 of One Direction as Captain America and a foxy fox—and Niall is so very tempted to pull a sickie and whisk Zayn off to their bedroom. Life is so very unfair.

In saying that, he’s about to go to a sick party, and should probably be a lot more eager. The bass is intense because that’s how Liam likes it, with drinks dotted on various tables and furniture. His place has become a lot more stylised and hip since Sophia moved in and strongly advised Liam to pick a theme other than sporty/reggae/white boy/Justin Timberlake fan/part-time DJ. As someone who nurtures a secret neatfreak view on his own home, Niall can never thank her enough for turning a pretty shit house into a pretty ace one.

Liam—a firefighter complete with the suit sleeves tied around his waist—is already pissed when they walk through the door, pushing a drink to Niall’s chest and kissing them both on the cheek. “It’s absolutely mental in here. Andy just snorted vodka!”

Zayn’s nose wrinkles. He doesn’t like vodka.

“I think we’ll be sticking to the beer, like,” Zayn says, raising Niall’s glass in a halfarsed cheers of sorts, one that Liam very happily returns with his crescent-squint eyes and emoji smile. Sophia comes along, eye in the hurricane as per usual, to haul Niall into their locked bedroom and show off the painting she just bought for the wall. It’s a stylised Justin Timberlake portrait, done with the kind of class Niall didn’t think possible for something of its kind.

“Ooh, a tail? Kinky,” she grins.

Niall lets her stroke it briefly. “Very posh-o synthetic fur. Got special shampoo and everything.”

“Oo-er,” she whistles.

A few other people touch his tail throughout the night, and one minute jerking by at a time, Niall struggles to find a way to sit that doesn’t wedge the plug right up his bum and onto Cloud 9. Zayn pulls him into his lap and Niall groans, sounding like it’s coming from the rough tug on his alcohol-filled tummy rather than because his dick’s kicking up quite the sticky fuss over all this stimulation. He digs his nails into Zayn’s thigh and imagines that transference of energy bullshite Harry’d tried to teach him, trying to make Zayn aware of everything he’s feeling. It doesn’t work, but it’s enough of a distraction to soothe his poor, confused cock.

“Alright, love?” Zayn asks softly. They can never be too careful about who they share their PDA with. Like this, it’s just Niall sitting on his mate’s knee, having a chat and quietly drinking his pint, knowing that, logically, nobody knows what he’s also sitting on. The beer dulls his paranoia to a degree, thank Christ. Not totally though, so he gets up and dances for a bit, more wriggling than anything else while Zayn laughs and copies the weird movements till Niall has to sit down again.

“Can we go, soon?” The room has calmed down but Niall’s body is thrumming with way more than booze – he’s not even had that much to drink, too jittery to down anything strong or even finish his third cup. He’s horny, wired beyond belief, on-and-off hardness starting to take its toll.

“Oh,” Zayn says. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Niall replies, counting down the seconds till Zayn bends him over the living room sofa.

Unfortunately, Zayn doesn’t seem to catch the I’m-dying-here roughness snagged on Niall’s voice, eyes brushing over the room with a reluctant pause. “Like, maybe you get a car home, and I’ll see you later tonight.”

“I think,” Niall says slowly, “we should leave now.”

But Zayn’s being stubborn. Or lazy. Or both. “Why?”

“Because we _should_ , Zayn,” Niall insists. He’s too close to say, “ _Because my dick has hardly sat down since we left_ ,” or “ _Because all you have to do is pull out the plug and fuck me,_ ” though there is one thing that comes to mind. Another idea. He leans in as close as he can and says just above the thrum of Liam’s remix of Ugly Heart, “Remember that tailplug link I sent you?”

At first, Zayn gives an oblivious _yes_ , then— Eyes wide, lips cracking apart, he stares at the fluffy tip peeking out from under Niall’s thigh like he absolutely can’t believe it. Niall knows that feeling intimately.

“You haven’t,” Zayn whispers, mouth barely moving around the words so Niall only _just_ catches them.

“I have,” he corrects.

“Get up.” Niall stands and Zayn pushes him forward into the mesh of people and drinks and dancing, towards the king’s throne – Liam’s Lay-Z Boy. Zayn says something close to Liam’s ear, prompting a frown, and then reluctant acceptance as Liam gives Zayn a key in return for a grateful pat on the back.

Liam’s spare room is opposite his and Sophia’s room, with a pale blue door and the kind of lock that takes a thick key, not a flat one. Zayn can’t push it in fast enough for how he’s fumbling and pulsing with energy – Niall knows how he gets when he’s frantic and demanding, those feelings usually applied to a sexual situation like a post-show blow job in the bunk because they’re too hyped to sleep. Now he’s snogging Niall seven ways to Sunday and unzipping the onesie so it collapses in a puddle at Niall’s feet, baggy enough that it simply slides right off his body.

Zayn turns Niall around so he’s holding the vanity table, sigh coming out awfully similar to a moan.

“You’re fucking ridiculous,” Zayn says. “You’re mad. Bonkers. God, I love you so much.”

Niall cackles, reaching one hand back to touch Zayn’s hair. He’d been wearing the hood of his Captain America costume when they got here, but it came off somewhere between _Acapella_ and _Money Party_. One gloved hand slips beneath Niall’s briefs to play with the base of the plug, nudging it down and pulling gently, then back in again.

“So, like, you’ve been walking around with it all night?” Zayn asks. A rhetorical question. He rubs his crotch up to Niall’s arse as though it’s an offer (or a promise) and slathers Niall’s neck with warm kisses.

“Yeah,” Niall grins.

Already hooking his thumbs into his tights, Zayn hisses out, “Let’s fucking do it.”

“Told you, not here. I want to go home.” As he says it, Niall pulls away from Zayn’s hard dick and possessive hands, feeling devilish and teasing and sexy.

“Aw, come on, Niall,” Zayn pleas. He pushes up roughly against Niall again and starts to rub on his arse. “We used to shag in our bunks, remember? You bloody _begged_ , like, just for a taste, and we’d ask Harry in the morning how he slept, and he had no fucking idea, like.”

The memory hits in waves, specks of Zayn panting through the first blow job Niall ever gave, Niall having to shove his face into Zayn’s jumper when he came, and all the times after that where they just couldn’t control the frenzy in their blood. His cock perks up and Zayn strokes it with greedy rubs around the base. “Louis always knew,” Niall smiles.

Zayn tenderly kisses Niall’s bare shoulder like they’ve had a quiet night in with homemade pasta and are about to make love, not at Liam’s house with Zayn clinging to his back and whispering about how much he wants to stick it in.

“Fine, but quickly,” Niall eventually agrees, laughing harder when Zayn assures him that speed won’t be a problem.

Sure enough, Zayn rips open a condom and lubes up like he can’t get in fast enough, checking with three eager fingers up Niall’s arse and then grabby on his hips as he slips his wet cock over Niall’s rim, breathing hard against Niall’s spine, turned on and impatient. God, he’s obviously _trying_ so hard to be cool and breezy about all this but it’s mostly unsuccessful, that little whimper he lets out giving him away so easily. In the middle of the thumping music and laughter, Niall is tilting his head so Zayn can nuzzle into his hair and bite gently on his earlobe, intimate and desperate, loving and heady.

Taking Zayn’s dick—the length moving inside him as Zayn grinds and rolls his hips to start—is a little bit harder than the plug, bigger, longer, though the familiarity soothes the burn of the stretch. Niall breathes in. Out. Relaxes. Zayn, Mister Quiet, moans against the corner of Niall’s mouth as he turns his head in for a kiss, rocking forward with another obscene noise.

“Was wondering why you were fidgeting in my lap like that,” Zayn admits. “So pink under that face paint, you know? Like, beautiful, but I couldn’t figure it out…” He stops to hook a hand around Niall’s dick, taking frantic pulls like he’s trying to make Niall come before he does. Niall angles back into Zayn’s thrusts, letting his mouth crack open as sounds spill from his grin.

“Am I driving you mad, yet?” he asks, watching his own precome slip down Zayn’s knuckles. His cock is full and heavy and pulsing, Zayn taking tugs off the tip as Niall shakes and gasps, overwhelmed when Zayn’s jerking hard on his prostate as well.

Laughing breathily ’cause he knows Liam’ll run a blacklight from ceiling to carpet the second their last toes leaves the doorframe, Niall comes on their precious vanity table, pale splatter on the hardwood surface. Ha. Beautiful, especially since Zayn’s whispering, “Yeah, love, that’s it,” all broken-like in his ear, losing his modesty as he moves in faster bucks. The mirror trembles, and all Niall can see in it is the very posh bed with its immaculate pillow arrangement flickering in the reflection. Zayn really doesn’t last that long, completely letting himself go and filling Niall with… pride, among other things.

Zayn simultaneously shivers, sighs, hums, and slumps, then kisses Niall’s cheek. He mouths all the way down Niall’s jaw to his shoulder, big wet smooches in his loved-up afterglow, still attempting shifty thrusts to make the most of the sensitivity before he has to pull out.

“Think you can wait till we’re back at home for the next round, you horny boy?” Niall teases.

In lieu of an answer, Niall gets a cheeky grin pressed into the side of his neck. The trail dots piece by piece over the knobs of Niall’s spine and into the crack of his arse despite the very obvious _fact_ that it’s too soon for either of them to get hard again, tail or no tail. Sucking slowly on a bite of Niall’s bum, Zayn makes a satisfied noise and teeth get involved, painting a bruise onto the pale skin while Niall laughs throatily at his boyfriend’s antics.

“You’re such a dick,” he moans, and all Zayn does is slap Niall’s arse and make the bruise sting. “Oh, _thanks_.”

“How do we do this?” Zayn asks. He’s holding the plug by its base, swinging and twirling the tail in circles and zigzags, smirk tilted with amusement at the many apparent uses of Niall’s new favourite toy.

“Lube it up, stick it in me, and let’s go,” Niall replies.

It takes a bit more than that, distraction a fair threat even with Zayn’s tights back on (his top is a great colour on Zayn, as most are, and it’s rolled to halfway up his stomach, followed by meek black hairs running through the centre of his abs like lightning, so Niall can’t help wanting more than a couple of glimpses) and Zayn ends up fingering Niall a bit longer than necessary. Dick giving a wobbly sort of attempt at fattening up, Niall bats him away and pushes the plug in himself. Zayn is totally rapt, mouth open and tongue stuck to his bottom lip. He blinks slowly up at Niall, that _I’m being good now but you just wait till I don’t have to be_ stare that makes Niall’s knees feel like he never even had the surgery and his heart expand to ten times its normal size with love and excitement.

Zayn is embarrassingly bad in the car, hands sneaking under their jackets in the middle seat and over Niall’s cock. Having no way of knowing how little liking Niall has taken to being hard half the night, Zayn doesn’t get the shooing he deserves. Niall plays with Zayn’s gloved fingers, pressing his own thumb to his lips to give a kiss to each tip one-by-one, and then up Zayn’s wrist and forearm, thumb prints like a connect-the-dots that stop at Zayn’s mouth because he licks the ticklish pad and Niall shies away with a snort-giggle.

He can tell that Zayn’s really geared for it, and Niall jumps out of the car and up the stairs (plug nudging right onto his prostate so accurately that he has to stop in the doorway) while the fare’s taken care of, through the gate and the front door, gaze snagging on his reflection. The facepaint has held despite the sweaty activities, hair swooped out of its high-and-wild ’do and into a swoopy flop that still looks good, and he doesn’t get to catch any more because Zayn’s behind him and kissing him and unzipping his onesie.

“Careful, it’s _onesie_ of a kind!” Niall grins, shoving hard against Zayn’s mouth.

Zayn laughs, pushing the soft, warm fabric off Niall’s shoulders and leaving it on the floor as he backs Niall onto the counter. “S’it?”

“Mm, discounted for its malfunction,” Niall nods, hoisting himself onto the counter. He still has his ears on. “B’sides, you’re wearing _tights_ , and I can see your fucking nipples through this.” He peels Zayn’s top up and pulls it over his head, Zayn laughing and snapping a loose thread that got caught on his earring, too impatient to care. Good.

“Like you’re any better, wearing a _butt plug_ under your clothes, minxy.” Zayn pulls Niall’s cock out and jerks it tight enough to turn Niall’s words into nothing more than a sigh and a couple of grunts, greedy for Zayn to get back inside him already.

“You loved it,” he grits out, grinding into Zayn’s hand.

“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t crazy,” Zayn points out, and at that second Niall knows they’re not going to make it to the bedroom, not when he’s lying flat on the counter and Zayn is between his legs, pulling off his leggings and massaging his own stiffy under his pants, mouth opening and looking like it’s watering. Zayn is tricky to read sometimes, but never with Niall. With Niall, he’s open and honest not just about his feelings and his heart but about what he _wants_ , and right now, he clearly _needs_ Niall.

Zayn’s also not selfish, though, and he’s left the plug in so it’s dangling off the counter. He tilts it one way. Another. In and out, up, down, grinning when he makes Niall jerk in surprise (Niall has to last, he _has_ to) and gasping when he strips off the last of his costume and wanks faster. Keeping his grip, he fishes the lube out of the bottom drawer (as two people with high sex drives, obvious precautions include equipping every room in the house with the bare necessities) and his grin goes sharp as he pulls the plug out.

Niall whimpers lowly. Barely without something to fill him up for the past two hours, it’s too weird to be empty, and it makes him squirm as though he couldn’t _possibly_ go without Zayn’s cock a second longer, biting his lip because Zayn’s groan sounds enough like praise to warrant another wash of pride through his body. Having Zayn’s tip nudge up against his hole is definitely a blessing, then it goes inside and it just feels like nothing short of a cocktail with key ingredients _relief_ and _heaven_.

Neither of them pretend that this is anything short of what it is. Kinky, rough, and bloody _hot_ , so much so that they’re panting and kissing, Zayn ramming Niall harder than he would’ve dared when they were eighteen and tentative and curious. Things have changed since then—obviously—like how Zayn’s so much louder now, swearing against Niall’s lips in hisses and moans, but not Zayn’s come face, that knot of bliss where his brows draw up and his mouth goes into a small ‘O’. He’s fucking pretty and beautiful, aiming perfectly because they know each other’s bodies so well that Niall comes more or less at the same time, overpowered by the sensations and _Zayn_.

“Oh fuck, oh my god,” Zayn gasps.

Niall gives a laughing sort of hum, orgasm still thrumming in his pulse and lungs as he tries to collect enough air to breathe properly again. They haven’t had that kind of ravenous, desperate sex in— well, it’s only been a few weeks, but he’s still utterly impressed by how this all turned out, hence the mental high-five he gives himself. Job well done and that. Zayn clearly feels the same way, since he’s grinning wildly and charging in for a kiss about ten notches above their usual post-coital laziness.

“I love you, I love you so much, you’re perfect, I _love_ you,” he mumbles, pressing the words between their mouths because neither of them are pulling away to talk properly. Zayn’s still inside Niall, Niall’s bare bottom is still on the kitchen counter, sweating onto the shiny surface so there’s condensation around his arse.

“I love you too,” Niall says. “Aren’t you glad I’m so _ridiculous_?”

“I would never want you to be any other way,” Zayn replies, smiling along though he sounds so breathlessly honest. “You’re ridiculous and absolutely mental and—”

“—you fucking love me,” Niall finishes, giggling into another kiss.

“Yeah,” Zayn whispers. “Fucking love you.”

After he’s shifted back enough that his cock slips out, Zayn pulls off the condom and throws it miles off the bin. They’ll have to clean the counter (it wouldn’t be fair to ask the cleaning lady to do it) but that’s a _tomorrow_ job. The _tonight_ job is convincing Zayn to carry him to their bed, which earns him a big eye roll and, _yes_ , Zayn’s hands going one to his back and one under his knees. Liam used to be the one who scooped them all up like kittens and plonked them into bed (their own or wherever wasn’t littered with clothes from half-unpacked bags) but then his kidneys got sorted and now Niall has to rely on poor, sorta-weedy Zayn to do it. That, and they have a house together, so it’d be weird if Liam lived with them just so they didn’t have to walk to bed.

“So that was… kinky, like. How’d you think of it?” Zayn asks, their hands and toes the only points of contact since they’re both starfished on the bed.

“I was on the internet too late, and then you said you wanted me to walk around with it in,” Niall smirks proudly.

Zayn grins, pecks Niall’s fingers and up his arm and throat, kissing and licking into Niall’s mouth too happily for Niall _not_ to start planning when he’ll use the tail next. (He’s thinking next week, he’ll just walk into the living room and blow Zayn while he plays with the plug.)

“And I was gonna go as Harry, so this was a bit of an upgrade,” Niall goes on. As an afterthought, he says, “Though I might not’ve minded being posh for the evening, ho-hum.”

Nuzzled into Niall’s neck, Zayn snorts, taking a deep breath to calm down and maybe get some sleeping done after that total whirlwind of a night.

“Sleepy time, then,” Niall agrees to the silence.

“Mm,” Zayn grunts. “Na-night, love.”

Genius as he is, Niall gives himself one more well-deserved mental high-five before nodding off. If he gets his way—and he will—the tail won’t be hidden away for long, this time.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Redfoo's _Let's Get Ridiculous_.
> 
> Tumblr is [camonialle](http://camonialle.tumblr.com/)!


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